


Soulmates

by iuwui (orphan_account)



Category: NCT, NCT 127 - Fandom, NCT Dream, NCT WayV
Genre: ALL THE GAY, Aged Up Others, Aged down some characters, All The Ships, Based Off Of Slightly True Events Because Of That One RenDo VLive, Fluff, GAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, I SAID MORE GAY, If you know you a real one, Luwoo, M/M, More gay, NCITY IN DA HOUSE, SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS, Sksksksk, Something trippy in those melon candies, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Still not sure how to capitalize things in tags, TAETEN ALWAYS CORRECTS TO FREEFORM WHICH IS WHY I'M CHANGING IT TO ALL CAPS, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Wait is that pinyin correct, Wang Wang Xue Bing, Y E E H A W, actually that's a phat lie it gets way worse, almost dropped my hydroflask, anyways yeah haechan has flowers, dont judge me too much please, for once, friends to friends and more and less, hanahaki???, has anyone watched Dream Plan by WayV, here are some legitamate ones, hope you guys enjoy, i dont know what kind yet dont at me, i gave up punctuation a long time ago, i just wanna waste time, if i end up publishing this and never bother removing the tags, im gonna die, is that how you spell it?, it is NOT a one shot, it is two twenty seven am give me sleep, it starts off really bad and gets better, kpop groups that cleared my skin, maybe angst?, maybe ten our gay gardening tool will have an appearance, okay, oof, or a one shit, probably angst, quietly pushes the do young agenda, so that was a load of crack tags, this is an honest to god book, vines that butter my croissant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/iuwui
Summary: Shades of gray are all that Renjun have known.Jaemin's had his soulmate's name imprinted on his ankle since eighth grade."I see it all, now," are supposed to be the first words Jeno's soulmate says to him.Chenle has a skin soulmate. Whoever they are, they need to stop writing in permanent marker.Jisung doesn't have a soulmate. Then again, he thinks this entire soulmate thing is bullshi-crap. Bullcrap.Haechan is hacking up flowers. Flowers and blood. No one's surprised.An interesting assortment of characters that all have their own interests, tangled together with red strings of fates, coincidences, and pure luck. What could go wrong?





	1. Coughing Up Blood: Batteries Not Included

**Author's Note:**

> Currently on hiatus... 
> 
> I didn’t want y’all to read through this and wonder where I went. I’m not really proud of this and I undertook a project too big for me, and the storylines are honestly too kunfusing (haha see what I did there I am FUNNY). But I’m too emotionally attached to this shiz to orphan it. Maybe I’ll come back sometime and rewrite it, but for now, this can be a place to laugh at my atrocious writing.
> 
> 05-09-2020: on god i am cringing so hard why can i never have nice things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone's wondering, this is a crack chapter at 1:23  
enjoy

_Listen my children, and you shall hear,_

_The story of a boy who shed not a tear_

_I don't know, get me a rhyming dictionary_

_I'm a frick frack diddly dack visionary._

This chapter is written in second person, which is when the narrator talks to the reader.

Good to see you again. Yeah, it hasn't been the same since my wife left me, but-

Oh, wait. You aren't my therapist. 

I guess you're here for Markhyuck, then?

Of course you are. Everyone's here for Markhyuck, not me, The Omnipresent Narrator, the Holy Mother of Cheesus and Crackers.

Fine. I want a raise.

~~~

Haechan was in love with Mark. He had hoped it had been false, maybe a crush, but then he started spitting up flowers. Soulmate bonded it was! *hallelujah, amen* 

He had two choices.

Confess to Mark, and be cured- 

Or

Never tell, and then die when blood filled his lungs.

Half of the world with a soulmate bond, and Haechan gets the flower curse? Pathetic.

Why couldn't it have been the kittens-and-puppies curse? The making-jewels-fall-out-of-his-mouth curse? Even the lizard curse- eh, no. The lizard curse was even worse than the look-pretty-things-fall-out-of-my-mouth-and-my-lungs-are-a-slowly-filling-up-with-vampire-juice-can-i-get-a-yeehaw? curse.

His parents had taken him to get an X-Ray when Haechan first told them. (I personally despise X-Rays, because they make my right shinbone tingle. I digress.)

His lungs were nasty. Roots tangled. Blooming flowers, and buds, stems and thorns and leaves. And a thin layer of blood at the bottom.

It was absolutely disgusting. Or, as Mark would say, "Sick, dude."

On the bright side, Jennifer from English class had finally stopped bothering him.

Soon he'll start coughing up blood.

Now, you may be shaking your head and asking, "What the hell, Haechan? Confess your love to Mark, stop slowly dying, and give us twelve thousand words of fluff!"

To which I say wholeheartedly- "BIG. MOOD."

However, dear reader, Haechan doesn't want to talk to Mark.

For now? He makes as many sarcastic comments as possible.

If he’s going to die soon, his last words better be iconic. 

~you've hawed your last yee~


	2. Colors, or lack thereof

Waking up to no colors sometimes hurts, but people cannot miss what they don't know.

It doesn't necessarily mean that Renjun has no thoughts on the world, but having to ask what the colors are, to have others describe it, give him a vivid taste of a world he cannot imagine. 

Red is the color of danger, of blood and of adrenaline, the beat of a bass.

Orange is the taste of citrus, bright and tangy and thin and sweet, his sister’s favorite color.

Yellow is a warning, a message to “be careful”, but is also the color of sunshine and lemon cake, which is Renjun’s favorite.

Green is the damp humidity, the smell of freshly cut grass, a signal to go.

Blue is the salty ocean air, the sky that surrounds them all, the twittering of the birds outside in the garden.

Purple is a color of richness, of silk and crushed velvet, grapes that explode in your mouth with every bite and stain your fingers.

Colors are feelings to Renjun, scents and flavors and sounds.

Colors have no real meaning to him. He likes to imagine what a color might be, but only sees black when he closes his eyes.

This occurrence is not too rare, complete color-blindness, but the only cure is meeting your soulmate. Renjun has read articles, studies and interviews, and it seems that people still don't know anything about it. About half of the world has a soulmate binding, which can occur at any time of your life. Whether that be with tattoos or a physical affliction, or even rarer soulmate quirks, where you can speak telepathically or read each other's minds, or share pain, or have jewels drop from your lips when you speak to them.

Renjun knows he has one, somewhere. It would be nice if they’d show themselves, but he’s learned how to adapt.

He’s just curious to see the world in its full.

~end Renjun


	3. In Which Jeno Questions His Life Choices

Jeno's not prepared to go back to school.

But here he is, dragging his feet a little, feeling very uncomfortable in his uniform.

He's heading towards the steps, intent on not speaking to anyone, walking so fast that he's creating a small breeze. People are laughing and whispering and one girl even points at him, but Jeno ignores them.

He's gotten good at ignoring things.

"Jeno!" somebody calls, running up behind him.

_Who are you again?_

"Jeno, hey!"

He turns to his right and smiles. "Hi!" _Ah, I screwed up._

The person in question is short, with smooth, tan skin, brown hair and a purple dye job that's growing out, the self-confident aura of someone who knows he's attractive and will use it, and a death glare plastered across his face. 

_I know face, but I don't know name._

"Uh, sorry. Who are you again?"

"It's DONGHYUCK, you genius."

"Whoa, since when are you this short?

"Since you disappeared off the face of the earth and come back two years later, having grown another 15 centimeters. Not even a good bye? Just, 'Hoho, it's the middle of the school year, better go disappear and freak your friends out!'"

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I- nothing." Jeno dies internally. Hyuck hasn't gotten any easier to understand. 

"So, what classes do you have?"

"I actually need to find out."

"Let's go, then! You don't want to be late."

"So, uhm, what's happened?" Jeno walks through the door, pushing it a little more so Hyuck can make it through. Not that he notices. Donghyuck is blissfully ignorant to everything other than food and sarcasm.

"Well, puberty came and hit people one by one like bricks, and now some of the people are downright _devourable- _bitch-"

"-Don't swear, Hyuck," Jeno interrupts, holding a finger to his lips.

Donghyuck makes a grotesque face, plucks Jeno's finger off his face like it's a distasteful rat, drops it, and screams, "-**_bITCH_**_**, KIM JONGIN IS HOT AND HE BETTER STOP BEFORE OUR FEMALE POPULATION'S OVARIES EXPLODE."**_

Heads turn. Somebody cackles, and yells, "NICE GOING, HAECHAN!"

"Have you no shame?" Jeno hides his face and wonders how easy it would be for him to melt into a puddle right there on the squeaky floor.

"Haha, what's shame?" 

"Also, why Haechan?"

"Why not?"

"Is that your new name?"

"Yup. I came out, my grandma almost passed out right there, and when I returned to school, I was Haechan, the token gay."

"I will never understand you."

"You don't think I know that already?"

Jeno smiles, a burden made slightly lighter, now that Haechan-the-total-dumbass (in a good way!) is by his side, their friendly banter like all those years before. It's good to be back.

He walks in, and the receptionist is none other than Mrs. Lee.

Jeno breathes in. Braces himself for the five foot tornado that is Mark Lee's mother. "Hi, could I get my schedule?"

"Wah, is it Jeno? You're so tall now! So handsome! When did you come back?"

"Uh..." he laughs nervously, blushing, as one does when one is assaulted by a Korean auntie. Look over at Haechan, who's no help, because apparently he still hasn't gotten over Mark. "I came back two weeks ago. My mom's been talking about you guys coming over for dinner."

Technically not a lie, and Mrs. Lee brightens. "Oh, lovely! Well, Lee Jeno- ah, right here." She clicks her mouse a few times, types something into the keyboard, and smiles for a solid minute as the printer takes its leisurely time printing out Jeno's schedule.

_Print already, please_.

Donghyuck returns to normal as soon as they exit the office.

"Seriously?" Jeno asks, shaking his head. "You still haven't gotten over Mark?"

"Shut up," he hisses, ducking his head. "He's probably in this hallway with his friends."

"Speaking of friends, did you make any new ones?"

Hyuck starts speaking, then doubles over, coughing. He's like that for a while, clutching his throat, while Jeno goes full (gay) panic mode because _he just came back and wanted a somewhat normal first day and now his best friend is dying good lord what do i do _before a white lily falls from his mouth. "Oh, _f__uck_ me."

Jeno looks where Donghyuck's staring, and it's none other than Mark, walking down the hallway with this super tall kid who he's never seen before, and Jung Jaehyun. Hyuck bends down quickly, picks up the lily, and hides in in his hand, before letting out two pathetic coughs that are accompanied with a pale yellow rose, with faded pink edges.

Blood flecks his lips, before he wipes it with his jacket sleeve.

Mark is laughing, and gesturing with his hands. "Yeah, man, it was- oh hey, Donghyuck! Jeno, cool! It's good to have you back!"

Donghyuck turns about five shades darker, and mumbles something incomprehensible.

"Hey, Mark!" Jeno waves, and Hyuck smiles, toeing the line of the fake smile one puts on during family vacation photos and extreme constipation. Hopefully Mark hasn't noticed the lack of conversing done on Donghyuck's part yet.

"See you around?"

"Well, duh. As long as you don't mind Don- er, Haechan?"

"How could I ever mind Donghyuck?" Hyuck lets out a soft "eep" and stares at Mark before focusing on the very interesting paint stain on someone's locker. Mark gives them one final grin, and turns the corner, disappearing, his giggle still floating down the hall as the tall one animatedly tells a story.

Hyuck breathes again, and then slams his head into the locker half-heartedly. "I'm so stupid."

"Yeah, you kind of are," Jeno says, hoisting him up. "C'mon, we don't want to be late."

"Stupid curse."

"On the bright side, you can always become a florist. Maybe then everything will work out like one of those cliched flower shop and tattoo fanfictions."

(Jeno, what are you saying? *laughs nervously*)

"Ha, as if. Could you imagine Mark Lee with tattoos, twelve piercings, and 'perfectly chiseled abs?'" Haechan replies, making air quotes.

"No, but your mind might."

"Hey!" Hyuck whacks Jeno's arm with his pencil case, as Jeno laughs.

And the pair of friends continue making their way down the empty corridor, Haechan muttering insults under his breath as Jeno gently pushes him along.

_It's good to be back,_ Jeno thinks. _But at what cost?_

He hopes to be long gone before he finds out the answer.


	4. Crushes, Giggles, Butterflies, More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much sleep have you been getting the past few days?”
> 
> Renjun laughs darkly. “Not enough, that’s for sure.” 
> 
> “You’re going to die.” 
> 
> “If I die, so be it."

Chenle wakes up with another note on his arm.

_I think I love you._

He shrieks and just about launches himself into another dimension, before realizing that he doesn't own any Sharpies in lime green- heck, who does?

His soulmate, whoever they are, seem to get around a lot. Phone numbers, little hearts and stars drawn in black ink, different appointments, words in Korean, English, and French, song lyrics, and everything in between. He's pretty sure there's been _at least_ two hickeys before. 

_That_ had been an interesting discussion with his parents.

He uncaps his pen, and takes a deep breath, before doing something that would change his life forever.

He puts the pen to his left hand, and starts to write his sentence. He starts the “I” before thinking better of it, and caps the pen, flinging it down onto his desk.

He'll write it later, when he's actually prepared to face the world.

His phone vibrates once, and he reads the new message.

**Lenjunnie:**

Lele, coffee?

**Chenle:**

...

Didn't we just go on Wednesday?

**Lenjunnie:**

Its Saturday, you n00blet

**Chenle:**

Hey! Fine, I'll go.

And in this case, you're the noob.

**Lenjunnie:**

***sent a Spotify link***

**Chenle:**

Did you seriously just send "Why You Always Lying?"

**Lenjunnie:**

:P

Nine?

**Chenle:**

K.

Chenle sets down his phone, laughing. He gets ready, not bothering to brush his hair, before grabbing his wallet and house keys and moseying on out.

Then he turns right back around and grabs his phone, because reasons.

~~~

Chenle takes the stairs down eleven flights, jumping down at floor eight and wiping out. Fortunately, he just whacks his elbow on the cement and destroys Mrs. Wang’s ceramic cat. Rip.

He walks out of the apartment complex, waves at the security guard, and walks down the block to the bus stop, and waits.

And waits.

And waits a little more.

And right as he's about to go and walk to the cafe the bus arrives. 

Chenle swipes his card, and sits, then gets up to allow a mom and her little daughter take his seat.

The girl smiles, play clothes a little rumpled, and Chenle notes her messy pigtails and scraped up knees. He smiles back, and she turns away, suddenly shy.

_Ouch, rejected._

The bus pulls up to the street, and he gets off, walking and singing “Baby Don’t Stop” under his breath until he reaches the Chewing Gum cafe. The exterior is chic, like the other boutiques that flank it, windows showing the bubblegum pink interior and Renjun sitting at the table that looks out, judgmentally staring at Chenle while stirring his iced coffee around with his yellow straw.

Chenle enters, and Renjun tears him a new one.

“I texted you four times and called you once! Where were you?”

“Ah?” Chenle checks his phone, and realizes he has a missed call. “Sorry, my notifications were turned off.”

“It’s 9:28. Punctuality used to be a thing, you know.”

“Do you want to continue pouting or will you let me order?”

“...hmph.”

Chenle walks up to the counter, and orders a croissant and a matcha latte, then sits on a stool besides Renjun. After paying, of course. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t that clueless. He splits the croissant in half, who places it on a napkin and pushes it aside.

“What did you want to talk about?” He takes a sip of his latte, while Renjun slumps over, head resting on his arms.

“I want to dfhmmcghfmmfmfjm…..”

“I can’t hear you.”

“I want to see the world.”

_ Ohhhhhhhhhh_, Chenle thinks, briefly glancing down at Renjun’s finger, which is erratically tapping against the wooden table.

“How much sleep have you been getting the past few days?”

Renjun laughs darkly. “Not enough, that’s for sure.”

“You’re going to die.”

“If I die, so be it.”

“This isn’t working,” Chenle says, standing up and pushing his chair in. “Come on, get out.”

“I am out. This is public. Coming out of the closet, on the other hand…”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Get up.”

Renjun drags his stool out, and proceeds to collapse dramatically on the floor.

“nO. I said up.”

“Blah, humbug.”

“I will call your cousins.”

“No, oh my god. No.”

“I heard they were in the area.”

“DON’T OHMIGOD DO NOT CALL MY COUSINS-”

Chenle slaps his hand across Renjun’s mouth. “Calm down!”

“Calm. I’m calm.” Renjun sits up, and brushes off his pants. “So, where do you want to go?”

Chenle pushes the stools back in, and grabs his croissant, stacking the cup on top of the plate and wiping the table, leaving a five dollar bill, while simultaneously linking Renjun by the elbow and dragging him out the door.

“Well, I heard a certain store was hiring, and I may have told them I had the perfect person for the job.”

“You?"

“What, no! I said my witty and charismatic friend was totally up for the job, though.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you decided that your witty and charismatic friend would be a great barista?”

“I mean, purposely spilling the coffee on that snooty foreign businessman probably wasn’t the best idea…”

“When you decided that I should become a football referee for the middle school boys team?”

“Ah, maybe one of their older siblings was your soulmate?”

“Yeah, no. The one time there was a cute girl, her brother kicked the ball straight into my stomach.”

“Accidents happen!”

“When you said that you and I could be trusted to carry Mrs. Wang’s potted plants up to the roof and water them?”

Chenle sent a silent prayer out for her ceramic cats of the past. And seven different plants.

“In my defense, those flowers were ugly.”

“You killed them."

“Okay, okay, so maybe I don’t have the best track record-”

“Yeah, a 0 out of 3 so far. That’s a 0% success rate-”

“-bUT IT’LL BE DIFFERENT THIS TIME!”

“How so?”

“Just come with me and do the interview!”

~~~

Renjun and Chenle continue walking, and Chenle finally manages to get Renjun to eat a couple bites of the croissant, through coaxing and nudging and outright death threatening him.

He gets a couple of judgmental glares, but gay is here and here to gay, and he’s totally cool with being perceived as Renjun’s boyfriend.

They turn the street corner and Chenle leads Renjun down the street.

“Let’s see… 131, 129, 127, 125- oh wait, sorry, it’s 127.”

Renjun opens the door and hold it for Chenle, who walks in and smiles at the cozy, dimly lit store, coffee machines in the back and books surrounding him, a ladder or two precariously leaning against the shelves. Five cats lounge around the place, the soft pitter patter of paws as his favorite cat leisurely strolls towards them, weaving between Chenle’s legs and affectionately butting his head against Chenle’s foot.

“Aw, Xiao Mao, you still remember me?”

The only other person in the store is sitting on an overstuffed loveseat in the corner, perched on the edge, absorbed in a book. His hair is bleached a medium blonde, round glasses and cream turtleneck sweater adding to the entire aesthetic.

“Kun-gege!”

“Lele,” Kun says, setting his book down on the table next to him. A gentle smile tugs at his lips, and he shows both of his dimples. “What have you been up to?”

Chenle shrugs. “You know me, the perfect little angel.”

Renjun looks around the store in wonder, craning his neck to see the astrolabes and planets hanging from the ceiling.

“Is this place even real?”

Kun grins, and picks up a cat. “Hmm, it seems rather real. I don’t know, Tian Tian, are you real?”

Tian Tian regally sniffs and boops Kun with her nose, before jumping out of his arms and padding off.

“This is amazing,” Renjun breathes, eyes still slightly wide. “I’m Renjun.”

“I’m Kun, Lele’s cousin.”

Renjun smiles, and turns to Chenle, mock jealousy written across his face. “How come you have such amazing cousins? I get the, the _ donkey _ with perfect hair and the tree that eats everything in sight, and you have a professional dancer and a cousin that runs a coffee bookstore with cats!”

“Well, you can always ask the author to change the story,” Chenle deadpans, staring straight at Renjun. “Besides, Lucas and Hendery are awesome.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t need to be with them during the holidays. Lucas ate three mooncakes in one sitting during Chinese New Year, I legitimately thought he was going to die.” 

“Wait, you know Lucas?” Kun asks, surprise written across his face.

“It would be hard not to, his dad’s my uncle. How do _ you _ know him?”

“I’m friends with Jungwoo, we met in primary school.”

“Oh, I love Jungwoo!”

“Yeah, he and Lucas are really happy together. Between you and me, I think Jungwoo’s going to propose soon.”

“Seriously?!"

Chenle coughs. “Uh, hi. I’m here too.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Kun sheepishly turns to Chenle again. “What are you here for?”

“I’m applying for the job, actually!” Renjun responds.

“Oh, okay. Can you make coffee?”

“Yes. Lattes, too.”

“Can you shelve books?”

“Yup.”

“Any allergies?” 

“I can’t have artificial banana flavoring, or else my face swells up.”

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind. You’re hired.”

“Wait, like now?”

“Yes, like now.”

“When are my hours?”

“I don’t need too much help around here, maybe after school until five.”

“What about weekends?”

“It can vary, usually from one to six. I don’t think I’ll need you on Saturdays, though.”

“Who comes in on Saturday, then?”

“This other boy, Jeno. He’s going to arrive soon, actually. It’s almost eleven.”

“Can I show him around?” Chenle asks excitedly.

“Try not to burn the place down.”

“I’m _ always _ trustworthy, Kun-ge.”

Renjun snorts, and Chenle backtracks. “Okay, okay, maybe not all the time. It’s a solid 60%, though!”

Kun cocks an eyebrow, and readjusts his glasses.

“You know what, I’m not going to continue. You gotta meet all the cats, Injunnie.”

They continue, Chenle pointing out the attic nook and the three different ovens compared to the standard two, and all the cats, including Tian Tian and her kittens, Mei Mei and Yue Yue, who each take up a stair on the rickety spiral staircase to the second floor. The staircase is more for decoration than anything, and is blocked off by piles of haphazardly stacked books. Renjun’s immediately drawn to a small shorthair cat, who’s lying down next to the science fiction section, eyes closed.

“Who’s this?” he whispers, careful not to disturb the cat.

“That’s Lele-”

“You named the _cat_ after yourself?”

“No, it’s another Lele. He responds to Mao Mi, too.”

Renjun has pure adoration in his eyes as he watched the tiny cat. He slips into his native Chinese dialect, and Chenle listens quietly. “_Mao mi, you're so adorable_."_  
_

The cat yawns, stretches, and blinks sleepily at Renjun. “Mew.”

Renjun squeals slightly. “Chenle, did you see that? He woke up. He loves me.”

“If I knew cats could make you this happy, I woudl’ve gotten an animal shelter for you years ago.”

“Come on, you can’t- well, you probably _ could_, but that’s irrelevant. Besides, bribing me to make me happy isn’t the best idea.”

Lele (the cat, not the human) gets up, and Renjun follows.

“Are you the one person posse?” Chenle asks, sidling alongside him.

“Oh, shut up.”

Lele makes his way to the front of the store, and plops down right next to the doormat. Renjun watches intently, then sits down, shaking his head slightly.

He turns to Chenle and starts talking. “You know, I always thought pets were a waste of time, and my parents didn’t allow one, anyways. I think academics are incredibly oppressive- it’s a continuous cycle of waking up and studying and cram school and going to bed at one in the morning and waking up and doing it again. It’s liberating, really, having more freedom as we grow up.”

Chenle nods. “It’s the same with me, but Kun-ge started this- giving my aunt a heart attack, I might add- and you learn to really appreciate the smaller things in life.”

“That’s exactly right. It’s like time just stops here, and never starts up again. I could stay here forever.”

The door opens, and Renjun continues. “I just feel like, I see it no-o-ow…” He blinks once, and slowly turns to the person standing in the doorway, who stares right back, dropping his parcel. The air is charged with electricity, and Chenle feels like he’s intruding on something private.

“I see it all, now,” Renjun breathes, getting up from the ground and walking twenty feet to the boy standing inside of the shop, still and unmoving, whatever he was carrying long forgotten.

“I’m- I’m Lee Jeno,” the boy- Jeno -says, black hair falling over his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Huang Renjun. Your new coworker-”

“-and my soulmate,” Jeno finishes, smiling sweetly.

Chenle resists the urge to fanboy and excitedly tries to tele-communicate with Kun, who’s still reading his book, lips curled up in a very slight smile.

“I’d say this is a good time to give you a break, Jeno. How about you two go out for a while?”

“I couldn’t, sir, I-”

“-you can and you will, Lee Jeno. You have the rest of the day off. Chenle and I can take care of the shop.”

Jeno turns to Renjun. “So, um. Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“As long as you’re there with me.”

Renjun holds out his hand, Jeno tentatively takes it, and then the door gently slams shut and the two of them are out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me trying to write legitimate fluff without angst- aka *panic*.
> 
> came back and realized how weird my spacing was so changed that
> 
> *dabs*


	5. That’s A Long-Ass Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me out.
> 
> On a date.
> 
> Or like-
> 
> -with a machine gun.
> 
> Surprise me.

Mark writes.

Writing is what he does. 

It’s his hobby, and his dream.

Poetry, especially.

He puts it in his journal, and keeps it in his journal, and doesn’t let anyone read it. 

Oh, he tells himself that it’s because it’s bad, or nobody want to read it, but the truth is, he’s a coward. And he doesn’t want to deal with it, doesn’t want to hear criticism or to have people judge him, because it happened to him in the past, and he doesn’t want it to happen again.

So he smiles. Acts friendly. Flirts a little, but not too much. He does well academically, participates in sports and one or two after-school clubs. And it works for Mark, fitting in, pretending like he’s not slowly killing himself.

He’s been keeping this facade up for almost two years, and it hasn’t cracked yet. It’s the day before school starts, and he thinks it’s going to crumble down around him. He doesn’t have any new notebooks, because he went school supply shopping with Johnny and Johnny got them kicked out because he tried standing on two swivel chairs, one leg on each, and did a split. He didn’t plan the split, but there was a lot of screaming.

That three year old toddler was probably scarred for life.

He has his last resort, but he doesn’t want to. He has notebooks filled with short stories, and writing prompts, and interesting things he saw that day.

And there’s one that’s only a quarter filled, one filled with his deepest fears and insecurities, filled with his inner demons and dreams. 

He winces, opening it.

It’s leather bound, lined, with a thin red bookmark sewn into the spine. It still has the new book smell. Mark honestly didn’t think it was possible to get so attached to an inanimate object that was, for all purposes, the dead carcass of a cow and tree pulp, but there he was, feeling like Abraham about to kill Isaac.

He flips through the pages of his writing, until he reaches a blank page. He gathers the papers in his hand, and pulls.

It rips a little bit, and Mark braces himself, before _tearing_ it, watched as it separates itself from the rest of the book, leaving jagged bits of paper behind and crumpled notes in his left hand.

He’s cut himself, and quickly puts his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding.

A drop of blood falls on the paper anyways, and he smooths out the wrinkles as best he can before wiggling it into the crack in his desk.

He’ll check on it tomorrow.

He shoves the notebook into his book bag, and chucks that to the other side of his room, watching as it hits the side of the doorframe. Mark reorganizes his books, and shoves it under his bed.

He climbs into bed, and stares at the ceiling for the next three hours, unable to sleep but also unwilling to move.

He closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

_I am floating above the world, looking down, dreaming_

_I wonder how it is, stuck by gravity and consequences_

_I hear silence, up here, the suffocating quiet my only company_

_I see their tangible happiness, like strings of lights_

_I want to be there, to be not lonely_

_I am floating above the world, looking down, dreaming_

He goes to school, starts eleventh grade, not expecting anything to happen. He remembers practically nothing, and nothing really changes. He’s got new classes, new teachers, a couple of new faces, and a _shit_ ton of homework.

Mark sits down, unpacks everything, and spreads it across his desk. He’s about to get started before he remembers his papers, and feels the side of the wood to pull it out.

He gets a letter in return.

_Dear Mark,_

_ I found your poems in my desk. _

Mark shrieks slightly, and continues reading.

_I love your writing. It’s heartbreaking. _

Mark stops.

_I cried. I know you write because you love it. You’re extremely talented. I know that you can succeed as an author, even if you’re too afraid to go after your dreams._

Mark flinches a little, feeling rather attacked.

_I’m not giving up, though, and neither should you. I don’t write often, but I- I sound stupid, don’t I._

Mark shakes his head, then feels stupid, because whoever wROTE THE LETTER CAN’T SEE HIM. 

F.

_I guess I just wanted to say that it’s unfair for me to know so much about you. And it’s random, especially because_

_-_

_oh dear god why am I doing this_

_-_

_Um, I like you. I’ve liked you for an incredible amount of time._

Mark’s lungs collapse. He stops breathing, stops functioning, holds the paper so tightly his knuckles turn white.

_Somebody. _ _He knew. Liked. Him?_

** _ wHART _ **

He calms down slightly, tries to collect himself.

_Feel free to not respond to my creepy ass self._

Mark laughs.

_But yeah. Good luck with whatever you’re doing next. _

_Make a gay character for me._

_With all due respect,_

_I-can’t-think-of-a-cool-name_

_P.S. If this scares you, I scare myself, too. Okay cool I’m stupid._

Mark folds the letter and falls back onto his bed, grinning like an idiot.

Later, at dinner, when his mom talks excitedly about Lee Jeno’s family moving back, he suppresses his smile.

”Mark, are you okay?”

”-Huh? Uh, yeah.”

He lets out small laugh. 

“Perfectly fine.”

His mom leans over, peering at his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem flushed.”

His brother (back from college, sadly) laughs. “It could because you’re leaning straight into his face.”

His mom doesn’t turn around as she whacks him over the head. “Hush, now.”

”No, no, it’s okay! I’m fine.”

”Hmm... okay, then. If we have a dinner party, I want to invite Mrs. Lee, obviously. Who else?”

”Isn’t Mark friends with those other American students? The two J’s.” Jin leans back slightly, ignoring Mark’s glare.

”Johnny and Jaehyun.”

”Oh, they were both in America, too?”

”Yeah, I mean-”

”-Perfect! We can plan a get together soon, then. Maybe not Jaehyun, though. That boy-” Mark’s mother tsks. “-so busy! Does so much. Top of your class! Plays football! Football team co-captain. Sings! Mark, what about you, hmm? Spend all your time locked up your room? Too much homework?”

Mark ducks his head down. “Mom, there’s a lot more homework this year. And I’m still doing football with Jaehyun.”

”Still, you need to get out more.”

”Oh, he gets out more than enough,” Jin says, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.

”Shaddup.”

”Oh, yeah. There’s this wild story about him and his friend Joh-”

Mark stands up. “That’s enough, thanks!”

Jin’s laugh follows Mark up the stairs.

He sighs, and sits down, trying to actually finish homework.

He’s distracted, though, eyes drifting back to where he’s hidden the letter in his closet.

_Screw it._

He takes a fresh sheet of paper, and starts writing.

_Dear person-who-can’t-think-of-an-alias,_

_Take me out._

_On a date._

_Talk about your life, and complain about people you hate._

_Flatter me with a bajillion comments as I wonder how I got lucky enough to have you._

_Make me laugh with my mouth full so that I spit soda all over you while laughing like the maniac I am._

_Or like-_

_-with a machine gun._

_Surprise me._

_XOXO,_

_Mark_

_1 270-528-1043_

He folds up his letter, and shoves it into the desk once again.

Then he turns to his homework and fills out his worksheet while contemplating his life choices for next hour.


	6. The Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of crack here is questionable

Jaemin works in a small boutique that sells little trinkets and soulmate gifts, handmade dreamcatchers and lettered signs. It's in-between a clothing store and a large dollar store that sells manufactured pens and odds and ends, so most people who wander in aren’t interested in buying anything. They always leave with something, though. The objects speak to them.

Jaemin prides himself in that fact, being able to find what others need the most.

The scene is set on a late Saturday morning, and he's going to go on his lunch break soon. Only a handful of customers have come so far today. He wants to visit the coffee shop that recently opened up a few streets down, partially because he hears the lattes are delightful, and because he had overheard Lee Jeno talking about his new job with Haechan. And, well, because later that same night, Haechan had texted Jaemin with his work schedule, along with two winky faces that weren’t appreciated nearly as much.

Ducking Haechan.

He isn’t really close with Jeno, but Jeno's his soulmate. He sees the name every day, right on his ankle. It would be hard to miss, really. He doesn’t know much about Jeno, but Jeno seems shy, and kind, a little closed off, and absolutely adorable. That eye smile? World peace.

He’s talked to him once. It was more than a little awkward, especially because Jaemin had asked Jeno if he could see, which madly startled him for some reason. Then Jaemin dropped his pencil, which rolled under Jeno’s desk, which means that the first impression he made on Jeno was probably one of a clumsy idiot.

Yurgh.

The door swings open, and Jaemin’s head snaps up. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.

Because fate has Lee Jeno.

Smiling.

At.

Jaemin.

Is this what death felt like?

Everything moves in slow motion.

it iS a k-dRaMa, eVeRyThiNg Is a k-DraMA, hIs sOuL hAs lEfT hIS bOdY aNd hIs heARt fLaTliNeS-

Jaemin’s joy changes to shock in about a second flat when he notices the silhouette behind Jeno.

Okay, that isn't too bad.

Plenty of people come into the store every day. Or… maybe they were strangers. Coincidence.

Then Jeno glances behind him, and Jaemin realizes he's holding the door open for the other boy. A boy who is slightly shorter, and slender, with pale skin and a small smile. His hair blows into his face, and he shakes his head exasperatedly. The way Jeno looks at him-

Jaemin knows right then and there that his chances just went from slight to none.

So he acts like he's fine, but he probably (definitely) isn’t. As soon as the door closes, and he's positive Jeno and the other boy are focused on the shelves, he whips out his phone and starts texting Haechan.

**Jaemin:**

HAECHAN

DONGHYUCK

DONKEY MAN

BOY IN LOVE WITH MARK LEE

read 11:43

HELP

HELP ME PLZ LITERALKY DYING

AJDJAKDJAJDJSUSUDU

HAECHAN WHERE TF DID YOU GO

DUDE

FINE SORRY THAT WAS A LOW BLOW

YOU’RE NOT IN LOVE WITH MARK LEE YOU’RE OBSESSED WITH HIM

HELP

I AM DYING

MY SOUL HAS LEFT MG BODY

wHERE ARE YOU?

so help me god if you abandoned me for YouTube i will crawl through your screen and strangle you

**Sunflower Hoe☀︎:**

is typing…

**Jaemin:**

Hurry up you little shit

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

apologize first.

**Jaemin:**

I am _ literally _having a crisis right now I will apologize to you and your Mark Lee body pillow after you help me

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

i have time. 

you don’t.

**Jaemin:**

OKAY I APOLOGIZE NOW HELP ME WITH THIS LEE JENO JUST WALKED INTO MY SHOP

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

that’s good! confess, u coward.

**Jaemin:**

It’s not about Jeno, it’s the boy that’s with him!

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

*sent a gif*

W H A T

**Jaemin:**

Do you need a photo?

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

d u h

jeno didn’t tell me he had a boyfriend.

are we still friends?

i thought we were best friends.

i gave him a friendship bracelet what the heck.

jeno why you do this to me?

:,(

**Jaemin:**

Hyuck I’m very sorry about you and Jeno but can you please help me

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

well why didn’t you ask me.

**Jaemin:**

You’re a bad person

*attached file*

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

i’m not a bad person.

i have no clue who that is.

ngl he's cute.

**Jaemin:**

Thanks so much for your commentary on Jeno's boyfriend

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

you’re very welcome, you bitch ass hoe.

**Jaemin:**

No u

**Sunflower Hoe ☀︎:**

know yourself before you know others.

Jaemin sets down his phone and takes a deep breath. Jeno and the other boy are peering at a small snow globe intently.

He makes his way over and speaks up. “Hi, can I help you two? What would you be looking for?”

“Um, something for soulmates.” Jeno grins sheepishly and glances down at the other boy, who stares back before breaking into a smile.

“Sorry for this doofus,” the other boy says. “I’m Renjun. Aforementioned doofus is Jeno. We're looking for a small trinket, I guess? It doesn’t need to be matching.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the snow globe would be the best choice for something portable.” Jaemin winces at his words. Did it sound too harsh? He doesn’t want to sound like an asshole. “I mean, because it seems like you guys want smaller things-“

Jeno chokes.

Renjun chokes.

Jaemin chokes.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, oh my god I’m didn’t- I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s fine!” Renjun replies, ears bright red. Jeno pointedly doesn't look at either of them.

“Our… keychains and things are over here. Are you guys new soulmates?”

Renjun looks at Jeno, who laughs. “Yeah, um, maybe I was a little too enthusiastic about sharing the news.”

Renjun snorts. “I think half of the population of Seoul knows we’re dating.”

“Shush.”

“Okay, new soulmates. Do you guys have any kind of inside joke or bond of something?”

“Cats.”

“Boxes.”

“Books.”

“An obnoxious Chinese teenager who squeals like a Justin Bieber fangirl from 2012.”

“...okay.”

Jaemin leads them to the small rack of things he made himself.

“Oh, wow,” Renjun says, lightly touching a keychain. “Did you make these yourself?”

_Does this kid read minds or something?_

“Yeah, I did.”

“What color is this one?” 

That one was a key that he had painted to look like the night sky. He's proud of it, and stupidly possessive. He had been deep in the feels of Jeno when he made it, less than a month ago, when Jeno first returned.

“It’s primarily dark blue, but then I used some purple, and mixed in some black and pink, and dotted it with light yellow and white. To make a night sky.”

“Why a night sky?”

“Because whoever gets it has the key to my- um, the universe.”

Renjun gently hangs up the key again. “That’s beautiful.”

“I think you guys might like this one,” Jaemin says, lifting two bracelets off of the rack. Made of black string, both with a different silver charm on it, it has a distinct appeal to it without being too obnoxious or too dull.

"Oh, my god," Renjun whispers.

“This. This is the one. How much is it?” Jeno asks, already pulling out his wallet.

“It’s free for you two.”

“Hey, no.” Renjun protests.

“I insist. I made these myself, so my boss isn’t losing any revenue.”

“Na Jaemin, you’re too much sometimes.” Jeno says. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t pay you.”

“I’m not taking any money.”

“Well, what do you want?” Renjun asks. “We’ll give you anything- within reason. No making us your personal slaves.”

Jaemin mentally berates himself for going to NSFW things. He has to get off the internet.

“Your numbers.”

“What?”

He grabs his phone and opens to the contacts app. “Here.”

Renjun whispers into Jeno’s ear before quickly entering his contact information. Jeno adds his number. When he returns Jaemin’s phone, their hands touch for a brief moment and Jaemin would be lying if he said it didn’t exhilarate him.

_ Bad Jaemin. His boyfriend is right in front of you. Take twelve steps back and banish yourself to friendzone jail._

"Do you guys want me to wrap it up?"

"No, no, no!" Renjun says. "Please don't go through that trouble for us."

Jaemin pouts. "Fine, but you have to wear the bracelets for me. I want to see my craftsmenship."

Jeno slips the star bracelet on Renjun's wrist and tightens it gently, and Renjun does the same.

_ So this is what third wheeling feels like, _ Jaemin thinks.

"Aww, it's adorable. Wait, wait, wait, hold them closer to each other~"

Both sporting identical looks of mild confusion, they follow Jaemin's instructions.

The magnets click together.

"The moon and the stars, you two."

"Thank you so much, Jaemin." Renjun smiles gratefully.

Jeno doesn't respond, too busy looking at their connected bracelets.

Renjun pokes him.

"Thank you! Oh, do you have a nickname?"

"My friends call me Nana."

"Thanks, Nana."

Jaemin waves as they say their goodbyes.

He needs them out. 

ASAP. As soon as possible.

It would be easier if he could hate Renjun, but Renjun was so freaking nice. (and, if he was being honest with himself, also absolutely adorable) 

As the door closes and he utters his last “Bye!”, he breathes a sigh of relief. He didn't realize he was holding his breath the entire time. He places his right index finger on his left thumb, and traces his hand, breathing in and breathing out. Calm. Serene. Unflappable.

Then he notices something fluttering in the doorway. 

He walks over.

_ Calm. Serene. Unflappable. _

Two ₩10,000 bills.

He yanks open the door, and runs down to the street corner, where he notices two boys sprinting in the distance, way too far off to catch.

“Hey!” he yells. They don’t stop, and Jaemin hears their laughter ringing through the street.

Shaking his head, he heads back to the store.

He flips the sign to read “Gone Fishing, back whenever”. 

Jaemin opens the register, and creates a new rule for himself.

_ Don’t get involved with Renjun and Jeno. _

If he distances himself from those two, it'll be okay.

He can get through it.

It will be fine.

Little does he know... fate has other plans.


	7. Dancing On His Own

“No!” Jisung mutters, frustruated beyond belief. Dancing is usually so easy for him- his first love, his happiest memories, his worst struggles. It’s always a roller coaster. Right now, he’s in one of the low points.

_ Step-by-step, _ he repeats. _ Go step-by-step. _

He hates it. Something that’s always come so easy to him, suddenly eluding him, the one time he can’t have it escape. He’s got less than three months to go before his debut as a solo artist, and if he can’t figure out the choreography, he’s hopeless.

He’s had this one thing that’s always been going for him- his dance skills. 

He was a child actor, and one day on a whim, he had asked his mother to sign him up for the local dance academy. Everyone soon realized that he had this talent. So many people, all telling his mother to enroll him somewhere better. And she did. And he outgrew that studio, and the next one, becoming better each time. 

He wasn’t learning how to dance, he was learning to tell a story with whatever he did.

His natural talent and his work ethic combined to make him one of the strongest dancers anywhere. He now has a private instructor, Ten, who was renowned not only in his native Thailand, but also in Asia and around the world.

And he grew, stepping into Ten’s studio when he was eleven. He was fifteen, almost sixeen now. Still under the guidance of Ten, he had gained some fame himself.

So much so that one of the biggest entertainment companies noticed him when he was fourteen, and he had signed under the one-and-only SL Entertainment. Famous for being the first company started by a woman, and even more famous for the heads overworking their idols to the point of suicide.

Jisung took it. He was-_ is _\- stronger than the other people. He’s used to this. He wants this. He can do this.

So he takes a deep breath, and tries again.

He walks over to the stereo and listens as the track rewinds.

Walks to the middle of the room.

And lives the music.

He’s not overthinking anything, not following the choreo exactly to par, adding subtle changes and omitting things and adding others, and it feels so _ right_. He pops and locks, smoothly transitions to the other side of the studio, ignoring the mirrors and aggressively moving his feet, finally perfecting the footwork that’s troubled him for so long.

He’s not out of the woods, yet, so he finishes the song, still feeling like he's missing something, catching his breath before moving damp hair out of his eyes and making his way to the piano.

Jisung uncaps his water bottle and takes a long drink. The studio door bangs open.

Ten stands there triumphantly, ignoring Jisung spluttering as water spills down his shirt.

“Whoa, you look like a mess. But I have good news, Sungie!”

“What?”

“Okay, so you know that my family’s affluent-”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jisung mutters under his breath.

“-but we’re hosting a party, and who better to invite then my only student, the very future of K-Pop himself, Jisung Park!”

“WHAT?!”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s just a small, small thing, y’know. It’s just family friends and a few of my uncle’s business partners.” Ten makes a face. “I don’t like the business partners. But you’re going to come, right? I already asked your mom.”

Nothing can be heard over the roaring in Jisung’s ears. His breaths are slightly shallow, and he wipes his palms on his jeans. He hates being thrust out into public like this. “Ten.”

“...matter of getting you a suit, but I think you might be able to fit into something-”

“Ten.”

“...and of course there’s the method of transportation, but you should be able to cop a ride with-”

“Ten!”

“Oh, what? Sorry. I’m just really excited.”

“When is it?”

“On Saturday!”

Jisung is now the one rambling. “What? I’m not the future of K-Pop, I’m just good at dancing. I don’t want to go, who agreed to anything, what will I wear, how will this even work, I don’t want to go, please don’t make me go oh my god I’m gonna trip and fall on my face in front of your rich relatives or something-”

“-Jisung.”

Jisung sinks down to the floor and leans against the piano. “Eurgh.”

Ten sits down next to him and pats his back. “Hey. Listen. You _are_ the future of K-Pop. It’ll be fine. Pop in, pay some respects, eat some gourmet food, pay some more respects, leave. No biggie. It’s going to be pretty busy-”

“You said it was going to be small!”

“Yeah, like three hundred people. That’s seriously not a lot. My extended family is larger than that. And I’ve got a younger cousin who’s about your size. If this had happened a year or even six months ago, you could’ve borrowed my stuff, but noooo, you had to grow like a weed. How tall are you, anyways?”

“177 cm? I think?”

“When was the last time you measured yourself?”

“Uh… a month ago? Two months ago?”

“Do you do anything other than practice?”

Jisung sighs. “Ten-hyung, you know how it is. I didn’t master it. I can’t master it, and I feel like a failure every time. It’s not like I have friends or anything.”

“Jisung.”

Jisung looks at the floor, feeling stupid for oversharing and being so… vulnerable. 

“Jisung, look at me.”

He glances up to meet Ten’s eyes. 

“You need to cut yourself some slack. When I was fifteen, I could only dream of being on your level. You keep pushing yourself and pushing yourself. You’re going to get hurt. There’s a certain point where you can go to, and then you’ve reached your best. You can work on this level. It’s not about the difficulty, it’s about how good you are on the level you’re on. I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I’ve seen other people just like you, fountains of raw, untapped potential. They hurt themselves, and if I’m being honest, I’m terrified you might be next. Don’t beat yourself up. It’s okay if you don’t perfect it this time, we can make the choreography a little easier. You shouldn’t force yourself to dance. Arts? We pursue it because we _ love _ it. We don’t force ourselves to do it. Never. Never, force yourself. You’ll end up hating it. And nobody wants that. So take a break.”

“I will. After this.”

Ten lightly ruffles Jisung’s hair, and he can feel his nose scrunching up.

“Cut yourself some slack, okay? If not for yourself, for me.”

Jisung breathes out. “Okay.”

“I’ll go now.”

“Can you stay?”

Ten looks pleasantly surprised. “What, you haven’t outgrown your old teacher?”

“N-no! I want to show you what I’ve done.”

“Go ahead.”

Ten heads over to the speaker and waits for Jisung to reach the center of the room.

“Tell me when to start the music.”

Jisung straightens his t-shirt and shakes out his left hand. “Now.”

The music starts, and Jisung is lost once again.

The room ceases to exist, he’s only barely aware of Ten in the background. He isn’t doing any work. Jisung is simply watching as someone else entirely seemingly possesses his body and flawlessly executes the choreography that they created so long ago, the weeks of practice and critiquing himself and not feeling enough adding up into this private performance.

He loves it.

He loves dance.

Jisung shuffles, quickly jumping and moving back, where he’s showing off the footwork again. _ Just like last time. _

_ He can’t remember what comes next. _

_ No. No, this can’t be happening. _

Jisung stumbles and trips, almost throwing out a hand before glueing it to his side, knowing that it’s worse to hurt a hand, landing painfully on his side. He suppresses tears.

“Jisung! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, feeling tears already well up in his eyes. “I’m not crying because it hurts.”

_ I’m crying because I’m a disappointment. _

“Your ankle.”

Jisung looks at his ankle, and tries to gently roll it, before wincing with pain.

“Ow.”

“‘Ow’ is an understatement. I think you sprained it.”

“No, I’m fine, I swear!” Jisung protests, trying to stand up.

“SIT DOWN.”

Jisung stays still.

“Okay, I’m not a professional, but I can try.” Ten gently touches Jisung’s right ankle, and he lets out a cry. “That bad, huh? Scale of one to ten.”

“Like a six, seven?”

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Ten continues, prodding the area above Jisung’s ankle. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Doctor Ten has confirmed. Second grade ankle sprain. Stay off this foot for a couple of days, and no dancing for at least a week.”

“A week?!”

“Did you hear me the first time? Yes, a week.”

“How am I supposed to get better?!”

“Go to school. Make some friends. Go out. After the banquet, we’ll see how the sprain is.”

"I guess you were right, about me hurting myself." Jisung laughs bitterly.

"Don't think of it as being injured. Think of it as a mandatory vacation."

~END INTRODUCTIONS TO THE CAST~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't danced in years so i'm sorry if it sounds really cringey and forced
> 
> but i mean i do know what it's like to sprain something because i sprained my wrist when i slipped on a pair of roller skates and crashed into a shoe rack at a whopping five kilometers an hour but that's an entirely different story
> 
> and now that we've introduced all of our characters (after like five months i'M SORRY) the real fun starts... whenever i’m bothered to write.


	8. Lost and Lenny Faces

**On last week’s episode of What The Fucc Is The Author On...**

_Jeno turns to Renjun. “So. Um. Is there anywhere you want to go?”_

_Is there anywhere you want to go?”_

_“As long as you’re there with me.”_

_Renjun holds out his hand, and Jeno tentatively takes it, and then the door gently slams shut and the two of them are out of sight._

~~

Chenle runs up to Kun. “Did you see that, Kun-ge? Did you? Oh my god I think I’m going to die-”

“Lele, calm down.”

“Did you see that?!”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wait- did you plan that?”

“What?”

“I read that there are people who can see other people’s soulmates because of the red string- waaiiitttttt a minute, does that mean you orchestrated Jungwoo and Lucas meeting?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Lele.” 

“I kNEW IT!” Chenle shrieks, then quiets down when Lele (the cat, the cat) glares at him. “Uh, sorry. Does that mean you can see mine, too?”

Kun shakes his head. “It works better with strangers, when you don’t know them. I knew Jungwoo and Lucas separately, as my classmates, before I became good friends with Jungwoo. That’s why I don’t know my own soulmate, or if I even have one. I don’t know who yours is. I can see the string, there’s just- it’s like it stretches some, and then it frays and disappears.”

“Does that mean I’ll be alone forever?”

“You just have a more complicated love story than most.”

_ Welp. _

“Oh. Okay, then.”

“It’ll be fine. Besides, what are you, seven?”

“One-five. And I’m almost sixteen.”

“Good things come to those who wait, Lele.”

Chenle looks down, stares at the floor, memorizes the wood grain, and sighs and plops down next to Kun. Kun, ever wise and serene, continues reading, turning each page once in a while and taking sips of his tea.

~~~

“And he says, ‘gOoD tHiNgS cOmE tO tHOSe wHo WaIT-’” Chenle imitates, hugging his first bottle of Ramune and sobbing, not sure if he’s joking or serious or just on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Lele, really, I think you should calm down,” Ten says warily, eyeing the other people.

“How am I supposed to calm down? I’m gonna die aloneeee,” Chenle weeps.

“Actually stop, though. Have you forgotten?” Ten hisses, jabbing Chenle in the side.

“Forgotten what?” Chenle asks blearily.

“You’re at a formal event that your parents are hosting.”

“Like I care.”

“You need water.”

“No.”

“Bartender?”

The girl muddling the mint and berries turns to Ten.

“Yes?”

“I’d like a glass of ice cold water, preferably with a generous squeeze of lime.”

“Anything else?”

“And a drink for me. Anything you think will knock me out before the night is over.”

Chenle puts his head down. A single tear trickles across his face and falls into his ear.

“Hey, Chenle,” Ten says, look of concern on his face. “I got you a drink.”

Chenle half-heartedly pokes at it, moving the glass. It slides, leaving a wet smear across the table.

“I can’t just drink my problems away, Ten-ge. You of all people should know that.”

“My God, you’re fifteen. And it’s _ water_. Can’t you grow up a little?”

“I am. I’m crying about my depressing life at a bar counter, hugging my last drink while sobbing to an old friend.”

“First off, you’ve only been drinking that bottle of Ramune. Secondly, your life isn’t depressing. Thirdly, you’re located at the private bar inside of your family’s mansion. Lastly, I’m not old _ or _ your friend.”

“Ouch. My feelings are hurt,” Chenle says, squeezing his eyes shut to force the last few drops of <strike>salty sadness liquid out of his large brownish-black orbs</strike> tears.

“You don’t have feelings. Seriously, my student is more mature than you.”

“He’s my age, though.”

“That’s the point!”

“Isn’t he coming?” Chenle asks, head snapping up.

“Aha! You little shit! I knew you weren’t crying!”

“Of course not,” Chenle says, giving Ten a glare. “Ge, you really think I’m that sensitive?”

“You had me worried for a moment there.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“What happened to respect to you elders?”

“_Old man_, I respect my elders deserving of respect.”

“Really, where is Jisung?” Ten checks his watch briefly. “He should definitely be here by now.”

“What if one of those rich guys’ daughters cornered him or something? Didn’t you say he’s a trainee? Isn’t he famous?”

Ten slaps the table, then slaps his head. “Fuck.”

“I can go help you find him!”

“You don’t know what he looks like!”

“Freakishly tall, cute, kind of looks like a bunny, probably looks terrified and lost, black hair styled circa 2012 b-boy member, wearing my other suit, and walking with a limp?”

“Do I really share that much about my life?”

“Yes. Also, I keep everything for blackmail.”

“Or it’s because of the little crush you’ve developed on him.”

“We dON’T TALK ABOUT THA.”

“It would be so cute. Little cousin Lele and my best student~” Ten sings.

Chenle stands up and leaves.

“Don’t get lost!” Ten yells, blowing Chenle a kiss.

“HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO FIND A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIANT?!”

~~~

Apparently, it’s _ very _ difficult. Chenle circles around the drunk giggly girls in the garden the third time, and narrowly escapes conversation with a few of his father’s business partner’s underling’s secretaries. The world of business is a confusing one that he’d much rather not be involved with.

He, too, is hopelessly lost. Used to living in his two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment, the ridiculously large gardens have already ensnared him multiple times. He trips over a stick and almost face plants in front of an arguing couple.

He thinks he sees Kun-ge, then remembers that Kun doesn’t come to family events unless forced to by gunpoint, and might not even show up, then.

He smacks into somebody who looks as equally lost at him. Then his mouth goes very dry as he looks up to meet brown eyes that are accentuated by a pale pink eyeshadow. The suit is eerily similar to his, and he puts little pressure on his right foot.

“Hello,” he starts, before hesitating as he tries to find the right thing to say. “Are you Jisung?”

“Uh huh. Who are you?”

“Ten has _ never _ mentioned me?”

“Was he supposed to?”

“Damn. And here I am. We’ll have to track him down so I can yell at him for not introducing me. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Zhong Chenle.”

Jisung looks slightly put off for a second, before Chenle helpfully whispers, “I was born in China and moved to Korea when I was four.”

“But you speak Chinese?”

“And English, and a bit of Thai. Nothing extreme, just enough to grimace through the pain of dealing with the aunties. Now, come on. I’m beginning to think Ten abandoned me on purpose.”

~~~

Chenle’s lost.

Again.

He took a wrong turn when he entered the mansion, and instead of being at the bar, he’s dragged Jisung to a row of doors lining a hallway. He has a feeling they’re all bedrooms. He can’t really decipher any noise, but he’s willing to but his entire inheritance more than one couple is behind those doors, doing the midnight’s devil dance.

A dude staggers out of one of the doors, before retching and rushing straight back in. Chenle hopes that was a bathroom.

“Where exactly are we?” Jisung asks, curling his fingers up and uncurling them again.

Nervous habit, probably.

Chenle doesn’t know why he’s fixated on that, especially because it’s obvious Jisung isn’t his soulmate- no markings anywhere, just pale white skin. Why does he notice things like this?

Okay, so maybe Ten’s right, and he does have a crush. But it’s tiny.

M i n i s c u l e.

A couple pushes past them, knocking into Jisung, who desperately tries to stay upright and grabs onto the first solid object he can reach to stay upright. Sadly for him, that first solid object is none other than Chenle, who stumbles backwards and slides across the floor, so Jisung ends up pinning Chenle to the wall.

At that _ exact _moment, Ten shows up, holding onto Taeyong’s hand.

“Hi, hyungs,” Chenle manages.

Ten looks delighted. Taeyong is incredulous, looking rather scandaled for someone who was wandering with Ten. His cheeks are rosy, which means that he was either drinking or doing something that would warrant going to find a bedroom with Ten. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Jisung immediately drops Chenle, who straightens up.

“So, we found him.” 

“Oh, no, sweetie. We’re talking about what you two were doing before Taeyong and I came up here.”

“Nothing!” Jisung yelps, as Chenle lets out a small screech.

He composes himself, before arguing, “What about you and Taeyong-hyung? What were _ you _ doing?”

Ten sighs, placing his hands on his chest in an overdramatic fashion. “Growing up already? Lying to me? What have we become, Chenle?”

Jisung coughs. “No, really. Somebody shoved me into Chenle-”

Taeyong whips his head up. “I’m sorry, somebody what?! Do a bi-person want to fight?”

“We came here to showcase Jisung, Yongie. It won’t do us any good to go knocking on the doors, trying to find the culprits. Let’s just go downstairs, and introduce him to some people. Remember, the sooner we do this, the sooner you go home.”

“So, where exactly do we go?” Chenle asks, voicing the question that’s been bothering him the entire time.

~~~

“Well, that was fun,” Chenle remarks, clinking their champagne glasses together. They’ve spilled the champagne down the drain, thanks to Taeyong’s overprotectiveness, and are sipping sparkling apple cider instead.

Jisung shudders. “Lord, don’t remind me.”

After following Ten down a set of stairs, they took a wrong turn and ended up in front of his father’s study, before running out onto the balconies, where Ten screamed that they needed help, causing a helpful security guard to run alongside them as they tried to navigate the house. They had finally reached the balcony outside of the party, where somebody recognized Jisung and yelled, and then they had been swarmed by a group of ten year old girls.

Jisung had been taken to meet Chenle’s father- poor Jisung just couldn’t get a break -been gushed over by more drunken middle-aged women wearing cocktail dresses and feather boas, and then checked out by a giggly group of… cousins? Family friends? Random rich folks that found out about the celebration and showed up? A giggly group of whatever, wearing the newest collections of fall dresses and the same variations of a basic diamond necklace. They, thankfully, skedaddled when they realized that Jisung was only fifteen.

Shocker.

Chenle, of course, had been amusing himself with a passion fruit mousse and watching Jisung die internally.

“It was interesting, though, right?” Chenle asks.

Jisung scrunches his nose.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The pause that follows is a silence that is neither comfortable nor uncomfortable- it’s a silence in a play, used to exemplify a point the director wants to make, a pause that suggests greater things beyond.

“Well, it’s certainly been an unexpected day,” Jisung finally concludes, holding up his flute, tipping it slightly in Chenle’s direction. “A toast for stories of the future. Because I’m sure there will be plenty of them.”

_ Clink. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to our best boi Chenle. Boss is at 100 millions views. We Gucci.


	9. Excuse Me Oppar Do You Have A Boyfriend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i really shouldn't've listened to 3racha while planning on writing now i've got bang chan's "like mATE, sTOp ProCRASTINATING" stuck in my head whatever stan stray lads
> 
> and i'm pretty sure i made a kobe joke in here i'm so sorry it aged like milk

Okay, okay.

Don't be too pissed.

Actually, go ahead and be pissed.

Now stop.

You see, I, (the author) is paying for y'all to be the author's therapist, understand the crap I'm sprouting. Like grass. Thanks, Mark. But like... those moments.

You know, those moments. 

When something happens and you, dear reader, are shaken to your very core. Mayhaps it was the BTS comeback, and the fact that you know those bitches ain't ever coming to Lithuania. Perhaps it was Stray Kids with a Double Knot eNGLISH VERSION and you were all "yooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" for ten hours. Perhaps you were too busy trying to stan ATEEZ, so much so, that you forgot those hoes had a concept to begin with. Maybe you're wondering how to make hand-knitted sweaters and shipping them over to EXO. And maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to do with Red Velvet or Twice or GOT7 or Super Junior or MCND or LOONA or whoever the frick frack snick snack you stan. Maybe you became a full ass weeb and scream things like "KAGEYAMA IS A DADDY AND A SON" before crying over the BNHA storyline arc.

But seriously.

Sometimes.

Not always.

Actually, never.

As you can tell, this narrator is <strike>having an existential crisis while blaring bagpipe sounds.</strike>

The narrator is <strike> reconsidering their life choices. </strike>

The narrator is <strike>not getting paid enough for this.</strike>

The narrator is doing perfectly fine.

But Lord Almighty, there's just some stuff in life in which you think you know what'll happen and then you get whapped in the face like a bOOM and then kWFDJGAHSH and then you've fallen down a whole of Gay or European edits and you think there's hentai in your YouTube recommendations.

Wait.

Where were we?

Ah, yes.

Surprises.

Surprises are fierce, fresh and funky, sent from the universe when you expect it the least.

Shit (read: life) surprises you like that.

For Donghyuck, that life (shit) is receiving a letter in his desk from none other than-

Mark Lee.

Also known as the upperclassman he has been in love with for his entire life.

And, having the curse of the flowers, which, upon further research, is actually going to kill him from the sheer stupidity of the entire thing, he officially kuncluded that life is meaningless and that he actually needed to talk with Kun. Whoever he was.

BUT HEY LET'S GET TO THE FACT THAT LEE HYUCKING [ehehe punny] MINHYUNG ACCIDENTALLY SENT HIM A LETTER THAT ENDED UP IN HIS UNDERCLASSMAN DESK FOR SOME WEIRD REASON AND NOW HE HAS _ MARK LEE'S PHONE NUMBER BURNING A HOLE IN HIS POCKET AND HE'S ACTUALLY GONNA START CRYING. _

He briefly understood that Jeno was going to smack him at lunch, judging from the way the boy was glaring at him from his main-character-seat.

Jeno sat in the corner of the room, furthest back and closest to the window, perfect for daydreaming and ignoring his life problems.

Donghyuck would like that.

It seems relaxing.

He's seated in the second-to-last row, one from the left.

The seating arrangement is:

FRONT

0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 _ 0

0 0 0 0 0

0 D 0 0 0

J _ 0 0 0

CUBBIES

He would be willing to have a fight at the moment, because for one, he could totally whoop Jeno's sorry pretty-boy ass, and two, he can't take out the phone lest it be confiscated and leave him with no way to contact his parents later tonight.

And obviously Mark, but his brain is focused.

Like a laser.

Pew pew.

As he blinked, trying hard not to fall asleep, he swore he saw a brief flicker of a dark room filled with neon beams, slicing the place apart like one of those super funky vegetable shredder things.

You know what I'm talking about.

Ah, a mandoline.

Madeliene?

The smollest bean was Park Jisung.

Happy belated Jisung day.

Somebody was still talking, and Donghyuck leaned his face against his fist, only briefly resting his head. A moment. Just a tiny break, really, nothing too serious. He sleeps plenty. Blinking is having your eyes closed. The average person blinks fifteen to twenty blinks a minute. The average person is awake for 15 hours and 39 minutes.

Donghyuck is far from average.

He usually is awake for eighteen to twenty hours on any given day, and blinks very fast.

And a lot.

So say he blinks twenty-five times a minute, and is awake for an average of nineteen hours.

25 blinks per minute x 60 minutes an hour = 1500 blinks per hour

1500 blinks x 19 hours = 28500 blinks

A blink lasts about a tenth of a second.

28500 blinks x .1 of a second = 2850 seconds

2850 seconds/60 seconds per minute = 47.5 minutes

47.5 minutes of his life wasted, so these 47.5 minutes better buckle the quack down and provide him with his sleep. 

A good nap is either ninety minutes, to get through a sleep cycle, or twenty to thirty minutes, to let his nonexistent brain function again.

He stands by this knowledge.

It's very important.

Who ever said math was useless?

Of course, when he had presented these facts-n-figures to Jaemin, he had simply laughed and patted Donghyuck on the head, before giving him a mug of sunflower-jasmine tea, with honey and lemon. And then tucked him in forcefully, before flicking him in the forehead and telling him to take a nap.

**(the nahyuck nation screams in the distance) **

When Donghyuck woke up, Jaemin was asleep in the love seat and he was on the floor, face-to-face with a dust bunny.

Somebody cleared their throat, and from the way it sounded, it wasn't the first time.

Donghyuck's head jerked up.

"Wa-"

"Isn't that right, Mr. Lee?"

He already had a perfect comeback forming in his head, but right before it slipped out, he swallowed it.

Slowly untangling his fingers from his hair, he glanced up, the puckered face of Mrs. Bisset, who had hated him ever since he had called her Mrs. BisSET.

It was an honest mistake.

How was he supposed to know the t was silent?

"Ah- yes?"

"Well, then."

She smiled, which somehow made her seem even uglier.

_ **"Let's not fall asleep again."** _

He agreed.

He strongly agreed.

_ That woman scared him _, he thought, opening his pen and taking notes as best he could.

His handwriting was only getting sloppier, and his fourth-in-class rank would probably very quickly be taken over by Kim Soo-Bin, who had hated him ever since grade school.

Seriously, she held a grudge.

His late nights were catching up to him, reflected in his 99-that-had-since-fallen-to-a-98.6.

Technically still an A+, but falling down one point would result in him dying.

Eight minutes left in class.

The clock had never taunted him so strongly, as Mrs. Bisset panicked and tried to cram more information with the few minutes she had left.

There were disadvantages to staring down a sleeping person for five minutes.

The bell rang, and everyone scattered, grabbing their unfinished homework and lunches and heading to other classrooms. And outside.

He’s the only one, probably painting a pathetic picture.

Lunchless and jobless and relationshipless.

He opened up his binder and started working on his math. About halfway through question two, a ball flew up from down below and banged against the wall.

How? He had no clue. For God’s sake, he was on the third floor.

“Haechannie~” someone sang, poking his head in.

None other than Jaemin.

“It’s your favorite friend that brings light and joy into your depressed gay world~”

Jaemin practically skipped across the room before choking Donghyuck with a hug.

His pen went straight across the paper, tearing a hole. 

"You scared me!" he accused.

"Oh, please. I woke you up. Everyone's on break."

"Did you bring me food?"

Jaemin distastefully put his hand in his pocket and flung a package of strawberry Pocky at Hyuck. He himself was carrying two lunches, both of which were not made by him.

Consistent admirers, that Jaemin had, with his open smile and his natural aegyo and his twinkling eyes and cotton-candy-pink hair. The bright pink color was definitely not natural and definitely against the rules, but had somehow always been allowed to slide. He was a good student, a good volunteer, and a good artist. To top it off, he was a natural flirt.

The universe was not fair.

As such, girls brought him snacks and little gifts and, shown by the brown bags, full meals.

There was also a common misconception that _ Nana _ liked sweet things, probably because of his nausea-inducing personality, (seriously, if diabetes could be a personality, that personality would manifest itself as Na Jaemin) and was thus gifted lots of candies and/or strawberry flavoured things. He’d usually turn them away, except for strawberry Pockys, which meant that he’d be gifted strawberry Pockys at random.

It was a very profitable thing for Donghyuck.

“Enjoy," Jaemin shuddered, watching Hyuck open the pack and stick one in his mouth (that's what she said). "Seriously. I can't believe I still bring you this garbage."

"Please, says the boy who ate cotton!"

"It was once!" Jaemin protested.

"You ate it voluntarily!" Donghyuck shot back. 

He bit the stick in his mouth in half. 

Jaemin opened one of the bags.

“Oh, and she put chopsticks in, too! Thoughtful.”

He then proceeded to drop a chopstick.

*friends laughing track*

Jaemin picked up the chopstick, before whispering “Kobe” and throwing it at the wastebasket- which made it in, obviously. Then he picked up and ate a piece of kimbap with his hands.

"Sanitary much?”

“More than you, man.” 

“Sure you don't want one?" Donghyuck offered, holding up the pack.

"I do so much for you. And this- this? -is how you repay me?"

"Ayo, hoe, I love you too."

“Shut up and eat something.”

When Donghyuck opened his mouth, Jaemin rolled his eyes.

“Something other than those fake strawberry-covered cancer sticks.”

“But you eat regular Pocky, what’s the difference?”

A girl poked her head in. “Jaemin-ah, why don’t you eat lunch with us?”

As if on cue, another half-dozen girls poked their heads in, all smiling through gritted teeth.

It was as if Jaemin was a shipment of grade A meat at the supermarket, and these girls were Korean aunties about to throw hands over fresh pork belly.

“I’m all set, you guys eat well without me!” Nana smiled and brushed his hair behind his ear.

Donghyuck could hear the exact time it took for all of their hearts to flatline.

“Yes, we will, thank you!!”

As they dissolved into a group of giggles, Donghyuck rolled his eyes so hard he could hear it. Was that weird? Problematic?

Probably.

Then he ate another piece of Pocky and coughed. 

And… oh, there they went again. He had been pretty okay at hiding the entire thing from others (with the exception of Jeno, because of course) and Jaemin was a friend who both overshared and undershared. He did it because he was scared of emotional attachment, and Donghyuck thought it was rather smart.

Or, he would be thinking, after he stopped hacking up daffodils. Seriously. Flower shop.

“You should eat a piece of kimbap, it’s good for you. Oh, we’ve got these things. I don’t remember its name, but like the pumpkin taffy. Are you okay? I’m beginning to think that-” Jaemin looked up. “-WHAT THE HELL, HAECHAN?!”

Haechan wheezed a laugh and choked on hibiscus. The purpley-pink flower wilted as soon as it left his mouth, the petals soaked through with blood.

“Just get the wastebasket. Please.”

Jaemin dumped the contents of paper bag numero dos onto the floor, and handed him the bag. “Care to explain?” He asked. 

“You should be more worried about the rice balls rolling around the floor,” Donghyuck replied. Then he retched and a cherry blossom floated to the bottom of the bag, followed by a whole stream of blood. The metallic taste filled his mouth, and he made a face.

“It’s hanahaki, Na Jaemin. I cough up blood and flowers until I die.”

“Then confess?? And be cured??”

“I get that a lot, too, you know.”

“Well, it’s quick and easy! And you won’t die?” 

“So then, tell me. Why didn’t you confess to Jeno before he met his soulmate?”

“He has been back for- what, five weeks? Six weeks? We’ve never talked!”

“Yeah. So,” Donghyuck started, mocking Jaemin’s voice, “He’s been what, my crush for five, six years? And what for? Nothing! We haven’t even talked in years. But like…”

“But like what?”

“But he sent me a letter! This bitch really sends me a letter and expects me to stay sane.”

“That’s so romantic. Gimme.”

“He doesn’t know it’s me, dumbarse.”

“Not as romantic. Gimme.”

“It’s my letter.”

“Didn’t you just say he didn’t know it was you? Gimme.”

“No, you don’t understand. It just turned up in my _ hagwon _ desk.”

“That shit’s from the universe, then,” Jaemin said wisely. “Now gimme.”

“No.”

“Gimme.”

Then he popped another kimbap into his mouth.

“You are really frickin’ annoying.”

“‘M the angel sent from the universe here to bless you.”

Jaemin leaned back in his chair and flicked Donghyuck’s pen across the room. It landed with a clatter next to Mrs. Bisset’s desk.

“If you’re my angel, I’d hate to see my devil.”

“We’ve established the fact that you’re the devil.”

“Thank you. So much. For clearing. That. Up.”

Donghyuck snapped a piece of Pocky into itty-bitty pieces and blew it into Jaemin’s face.

The fact that the boy looked good even when tiny crumbs and strawberry frosting melted onto his sweater was absolutely unfair.

“Is there any time when you don’t look good?” Hyuck complained.

“I mean, you said it. Not me.”

“I would slap you.”

“Death threats are made when mood swings happen.”

“I think coughing up blood and flowers is a great way to kill the mood, don’t you?”

“Whoa, is that sarcasm I hear?”

And yes, dear reader, that was indeed sarcasm.

Jaemin snatched the paper out of Donghyuck’s hands and devoured the entire thing.

Whole.

Just-

A sheet of paper.

Gulp.

Because apparently cotton wasn’t enough to satiate him.

With that, Markhyuck’s journey ended, because Donghyuck had not memorized the number.

Game over.

~The End (of Markhyuck, at least :P)

Okay, fine. But I’m funny. I’m hilarious. I’m a whole ass riot.

-devoured the paper, hands tightly gripping the sheet as his eyes sparkled in the bright fluorescent lighting.

“Oh my god, Haechannie. Take the boy out! He said so himself!”

“Are you joking?”

“What, I know for a fact one of my many admirers keeps a spring knife in her mathematics binder.”

“Why-”

“Yes.”

Donghyuck slumped forward.

Jaemin flicked him in the forehead.

“Come on, just promise me this.”

“Promise you what?” Donghyuck squinted at Jaemin. “I don’t make promises.”

“Promise me you’ll text him before the end of the week.”

“I-”

“Promise?”

“Jaemin, I can’t promise that.”

“I’ll give you Pocky for a month. Strawberry and cookies and cream.”

“Consider this a done deal. I’ll even throw in a few screenshots.”

“Of what, your pitiful attempts at flirting?”

“Excuse me. Mine is much better than yours.”

“You need to cure yourself, too.”

Donghyuck sighed. Just when he thought Jaemin understood. “It’s easier said than done, Mr. Na-I’m-Perfect-and-Everyone-Loves-Me-Jaemin.”

“Text him.”

There were five minutes until the bell rang.

Donghyuck dutifully pointed this out, and helped Jaemin pick up the scattered rice balls as he complained again about having a dozen girls fawning over him.

Later, after school and the cursed  _ hagwon _ , after making dinner for his younger siblings and ignoring his dad, (who cracks a homophobic joke) when he’s rehashing what he’s going to say in his mind, adding Mark’s number into his phone, reading the words over and over again, smiling stupidly as the words “Surprise me. XOXO” catch his eye, he inhales and adds Mark as a contact.

He saves the number.

Shakes out his hands. 

And types a very simple:

_ Hello, aspiring poet. I heard you were looking for inspiration? _

**Mark Lee is typing...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me so long what with break and procrastination and midterms *chenle voice* i'M sAwRY
> 
> anyhoo the point that i'm getting to is that i might be able to start updating on fridays with new chapters
> 
> we'll see


	10. A List of Facts and Figures

“How does this work?” Renjun asks later, looking at their intertwined hands, bracelet charms clicking and unclicking gently. 

“Nothing’s set in stone, Renjunnida.” Jeno smiles softly. “Nobody knows how this works.” 

_ Oh God, he’s falling. _

The entire afternoon has been a giddy feeling of floating, and it might be the candy talking, but he feels light and airy and free, with Jeno there. They’ve been taking turns peppering each other with questions, and Jeno has no siblings, likes the color blue, lived in America for a year and a half, still can’t speak English well, and knows maybe twelve phrases in Chinese. They had tested that out, and the following conversation was one for the books.

“_How is your mother?” _

_ “How is my horse?!” _

_ “No. Horse.” _

“You said horse!”

“I meant mother!”

Renjun gave up on trying to teach Jeno after that.

He laughs, for no reason except he’s happy, and being this happy is a rarity for him. 

If he had turned his head, he would’ve seen the look on Jeno’s face that was absolutely smitten, filled with a certain kind of awestruck love and admiration that few have and even fewer achieve. Young love, one that might be puppy dog love to the casual bystander, but this was a deeper sort of attraction that worked on another level. As if before, before meeting Jeno, Renjun was missing something. Obviously not on the surface. It wasn’t that kind of love. It wasn’t the typical he-was-my-other-half, but, then again, Renjun had never been typical. This kind of love was tentative and new and was exhilarating in the way winning was. 

And, he muses, _ Perhaps meeting him is the win. _

If one had been walking down that street, they would’ve seen the two and wondered how long they had been there, before smiling quietly and walking away. They aren’t making much progress, as the world buzzes and twitters and honks and moves and progresses in the fast lanes around them. They don’t care. Just the two of them. 

Jeno’s swinging their arms together. He leans to the right when he walks. 

“What train are you on?” Renjun asks, breaking the silence.

“Five. You?”

“Six.” He didn’t know this before, but now he curses fate (the fates?) for doing this to him. It wasn’t like he was planning on having the same train as Jeno, but it certainly made everything more complicated. They barely had enough time as was. 

“Stop overthinking. You’ll stress yourself out. Besides, what does it matter if we aren’t on the same train? We have the weekends and the years ahead of us. And we work in the same place.”

_ Fact about Lee Jeno: The boy can read him too well. Huh, it’s almost like they’re soulmates or something. Imagine that. _

_ Another fact about Lee Jeno- he has major allergies to cats. He is also big stupid. _

“Uh. Why do you work there if you’re allergic?” 

“Because if you don’t take risks, nothing will happen.”

“You’re risking having a puffy nose?” Renjun teases. 

“It’s worth it, if I can have cute things surrounding me.” Flirt. 

Renjun hides his smile. 

“Don’t even try and hide the smile,” Jeno warns, before leaning in quickly and stealing a piece of candy.

Renjun shoots him his best “bitch?” look. Jeno smiles again before eating whatever he popped in his mouth.

“Thief.”

“Because I stole your heart?”

_ Fact Number 13 About Lee Jeno: He’s a thief. _

_ Fact Number 14 (Same as facts 2, 9, and 11) About Lee Jeno: He’s adorable. _

_ Fact Number 15 About Lee Jeno: He’s the biggest dork ever. Case in point: the puns. _

Jeno pokes him and Renjun shrieks slightly.

“Hello! I noticed you weren’t paying attention. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Lies. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just. Life-ing.”

Jeno nods sagely. “Ah, yes. Life-ing.”

Randomly, Renjun blurts out, “I wonder how Jaemin is doing?”

Jeno’s eyes squinch up a little bit. “I dunno. I’ll ask him.”

“Whoa, you go to the same school?”

“Uh huh.” Jeno nods.

Bringing up Jaemin has an effect on Jeno, where he basically shuts down. However, from the way he addressed them earlier, it seemed like they were mutual acquaintances at most. Renjun isn't the possessive type, but he’s curious about what’s going on. Contrary to popular belief, being aloof and closed off is not because he cannot read people- indeed, it’s quite the opposite. He reads people too well, and he suspects he would be classified as a freak because of it. So usually he ignores the urges to overanalyze people, but the talent has its one use when he’s watching dramas with his cousins. Predicting the plot from the first ten minutes has become a special game of theirs. He’s predicted eighteen out of the nineteen correctly, and in his defense, the nineteenth one spent seven minutes of the beginning with an old man narrating about the art of sea glass. How the hell was he supposed to know the sea glass was a figment of the schizophrenic's imagination? 

Ah, off topic.

He focuses back in on the topic of what connection Jaemin and Jeno- his boyfriend he has a boyfriend what the hell he has a boyfriend? -have.

They can both be very quiet.

_ Fact Number 16: Lee Jeno is an introvert. _

“What’s your Myers-Briggs type?” he asks, then kicks himself internally. _ How about his favorite artist? First pet? But nooooo, his personality type. A++ genius, Renjun. _

“Me? Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never taken one.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“What about you?”

God, is there anything sexier than a boy who can carry a conversation?

“ISTP-T.”

“Which is?”

“Virtuoso.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

Renjun’s demented brain immediately starts singing “Fancyyyyyy youuuuuu~”. Being a genius doesn’t help when the brain decides not to cooperate.

“Not really,” he mutters, looking at the ground.

“Please, if you have an interest in it, it must be fun. What does it mean?”

He forces himself to raise his head and brush his hair out of his eyes. His one-time-sorta-girlfriend of the past said that he had nice eyes. Whatever that meant. 

“The ‘I’ stands for introverted. So, more closed off. Kinda quiet.”

Jeno nods earnestly. “Yeah, I think I’m one. Also. Too.”

He looks smack dab into Renjun’s eyes, and he feels his legs go slightly jelly underneath him. If that's what this relationship is like after about premarital eye contact, he’s going to have a great time spending the majority of their relationship fainting dead away.

“Um, S is for Sensor. So I can focus on the details. Pragmatic. Probably too cynical for my own good.”

“But the world is all around us! And so big! And beautiful!”

Jeno waves his hands around, looking for all the world like a big baby. Renjun starts smiling so hard he can barely see. “See? When you smile, everything is more beautiful!”

Renjun almost says something cheesy, like, “Only because I’m with you,” before coughing and saying, “More like I can’t see anything.”

Jeno pouts. Renjun’s soul leaves his body.

“Aha! The pout works!”

“Don’t remind me.”

Jeno harrumphs. “Fine, Mr. Cynical. Continue your in-depth analysis of your life.”

“It’s not my life, it’s my personality.”

“Your personality, then.”

“I’m a Thinker. Which is kinda self-explanatory.”

“Just say that you’re a genius and make me feel bad.”

“No-o,” Renjun protests, then claps his hand over his mouth at the voice crack.

“Cute,” Jeno says offhandedly, and then he’s the one shutting his mouth.

“These last thirty seconds did not happen, okay?”

“Time is a societal construct.” Jeno says, dead serious.

It’s official, Renjun’s going to start a Jeno-based religion.

The hub gets louder, breaking them out of their bubble. He looks up. Without noticing it, they’ve reached the station. 

People are heading up and going down, reminding Renjun of ants. Constant, seemingly mindless moving as they go about the hustle and bustle, soon to head to where they want to go and to live and love and die and do it all over again. Humans can keep this going on for years and years.

Humans are all stupid.

Including him.

…

Especially him.

He lets go of Jeno’s hand with a squeeze, and they head down the stairs together. The underground is clean and neat, while the noise is amplified, and once again, Renjun notices the colors. Bright and sterile. He’s cold.

Jeno takes his hand again.

He flushes, and his burning hot hand warms him up.

“Explain what the P stands for before I go?”

“Well, you said we had time.” Renjun says.

“How dare you use my own words against me?” 

Renjun swipes his card once and shoves both of them through the slot. He almost trips, but Jeno hoists him up. 

“Clumsy ass.”

Renjun kicks him in the shin with no remorse. Jeno’s too busy laughing to stay mad, and another happy little discovery is that their subways come on the same platform.

A woman is playing guitar and singing softly into a microphone at the bottom of the stairs. Jeno drops a ₩5,000 into her case, and she nods.

Three minutes until Train Five comes.

“Do you have my number?” Jeno suddenly asks, and Renjun jolts.

“Shit, no.”

“Quick, quick, I’m stupid- sorry -argh just give it to me, I’ll type it in.”

Renjun unlocks it and practically chucks it at him.

“Just so you know, I don’t have a data plan.”

“That’s okay. So long as you have my contact, I won’t complain.”

Jeno saves his number, and Renjun looks down to see “Jeno╰(*´︶`*)╯♡”.

“That’s not fair, stop being cute.”

“No one can stop me.” 

Jeno does a little hop. 

Renjun’s not sure whether to laugh or cry.

So he lets out a pained laugh, before glancing up at the sign and realizing Train Five is a minute away. 

Jeno looks to where Renjun’s gazing, and his face falls ever-so-slightly.

Now it’s Renjun’s turn to comfort him. He does so with a nudge and a half smile he hopes expresses his feelings more than words.

Jeno turns and nudges him back, eyes crinkling at the corners once more.

_ Fact Number 17: He has a little freckle underneath his eye. _

Renjun wants to touch it.

Or scream, because he looks like a WEBTOON character come to life.

The station comes alive with the sound of the train rumbling, long before it comes into sight. The subway smoothly made its way down the track, stopping with a screech.

“Bye,” Renjun says. It sounds pathetic. 

The doors slide open.

“Bye. Love you.”

Renjun’s eyes widen, and Jeno flaps his hand helplessly as he realizes what he blurted out.

_ Fact Number 18: His ears go pink when he’s embarrassed. _

“I love you too,” Renjun replies weakly.

Jeno lets out the brightest grin yet- Renjun’s going to be blind before his time -and turns away onto the train. He waves as the door closes, and Renjun blinks, and Jeno’s gone as the subway speeds away.

_ Oh God, do I actually love him? _

He digs deeper into the tangled mess of his thoughts, trying to figure out which emotions are solid and which ones are fleeting.

Emotions are all fleeting, actually, but depending on which one that feels more tangible, the most alien one which he suspects is a mixture of infatuation and elation, and entirely new.

That’s love.

Chemicals.

Chemicals, and apparently soulmates, because this world just has to go and defy all explainable law.

Albert Einstein never saw this one coming.

He looks back at the sign, and a flashing two reminds him not to drift off. He makes his way to the other side of the platform, accidentally stepping on somebody’s foot.

Renjun then concludes that his entire life is a fever dream, because this person shouldn’t exist, either.

The first thing is his height. Renjun’s not even short, but the past few hours have made him feel shorter and shorter. This dude, however, takes the cake. Renjun has to crane his neck to see his face. His hair is floppy and K-Poppy, his dimples are pronounced, and has the good looks people fawn over. Except, because this is _ Renjun’s _life and perfect strangers are never perfect strangers, his face is dead tired and he looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. Or, judging by the faint tear tracks on his cheeks, another breakdown.

Renjun isn’t the type to dig, but the red string tied in a perfect bow around his pinky makes him very suspicious. 

Glancing around, he realizes other people are wearing strings, and some don’t have any on.

He looks down at his own fingers. His left hand also has a string tied around it, done in a double knot instead of a perfect bow, and the trail leads down the tunnel Train Five was just in.

The familiar roar of his train drowns out his thoughts, and he heads on the train, sitting right across from the Breakdown Boy. 

The red string is glowing brighter.

Somebody should explain this to him. He needs to do some research, or ask somebody, or maybe go and check himself into the mental asylum. Renjun opens his bag of candy and pops a melon gummy into his mouth, then shakes his head. He should stop staring at the stranger and invading his privacy. After all, nobody knows what’s going on in his life. Breakdown Boy probably wants to keep it that way.

Alas, he cannot look away. It’s as if some sort of twisted gravity is keeping his eyes on the boy, and the fact that he’s not bad looking- okay, fine, he’s the most attractive human being Renjun has ever laid his very very gay eyes upon.

The train pulls into another station; whereupon people exit and more people enter. Including another tall person. 

Seriously. 

Renjun. 

Is. 

Not. 

Short.

Except maybe he actually is, because these lamp posts are popping up at random and causing the average height of the train to go shooting up.

He squints at the new person, who’s standing at the direct opposite end of where Renjun’s sitting, making his sleuthing a helluva lot harder than it should be.

This boy is Bunny Boy.

Bunny Boy looks bored.

Bunny Boy is wearing a purple hoodie and round glasses. Bunny Boy is soft boyfriend material. Not for Renjun, obviously, just in general.

But the strange thing about Bunny Boy is that he has a bright red string, the exact shade as Breakdown Boy’s, connecting him to the other.

Then Renjun blinks, and everyone’s strings are gone. He checks his own fingers. Gone. Nothing. He’s chalking the entire thing to whatever they put in the gummies- seriously, that neon color should’ve been a warning from the start -when the string that connects the Breakdown and Bunny Boys flickers again and seems to weave itself together before Renjun’s eyes. The string has turned into more of a braid, which in turn strengthens the bond and makes the color even stronger.

Times like this are when he wishes he had a data plan, so he could search up what-the-damn-hell was going on.

Breakdown Boy glances up and makes eye contact with Bunny Boy. Renjun swears the subway falls dead silent. The only thing moving is the train, and even the rattle of the wheels against the track is muted. Breakdown Boy shakes his head, his hair falls into his eyes, and Bunny Boy quickly looks away. 

The thread disappears.

The soft voice of the automated woman announces the next station, and they slide to a stop. Breakdown Boy leaves. Bunny Boy keeps his gaze level with the back of Breakdown Boy’s disappearing head.

Renjun has two stops left until he reaches the area close to home.

Bunny Boy pulls out his phone and starts scrolling, and Renjun continues to glance inconspicuously (read: incredibly suspiciously) at his hand. No cord appears on Bunny Boy’s hand.

Renjun starts thinking about what he needs to do when he gets home, and sighs when he realizes the group project needs to be concluded. And that he’ll probably have to rewrite half of it, because two of the group members are the unmotivated af type that bullshit their entire part. His fingers flex subconciously, imagining strangling them. Sadly, such a thing is impossible, because his fingers wouldn’t fit around their necks. 

The small chime dings, and the robot announces, “Now arriving at Noksapyeong Station.”

Renjun gets off, and so does Bunny Boy, who walks in the same direction as Renjun. Well, that isn’t too weird. Haebangchon is a decently sized neighborhood. Only when Renjun takes the smaller streets, and Bunny Boy follows him, does he begin to feel slightly uncomfortable. 

He couldn’t be following Renjun- right? Renjun would like to believe Bunny Boy is nice. Renjun would not like to be attacked by Bunny Boy.

He turns to his apartment complex and scans his card at the gate, waving to the security guard. A curse resounds from behind him, and it turns out Bunny Boy’s card isn’t working. The security guard who is less of a security guard and more of a friendly grandpa painstakingly rises to his feet. Renjun hollers internally and gestures for Security Grandpa to sit back down.

He opens the gate for Bunny Boy, who thanks him. That should be it, right?

But apparently they live in the same building, so Renjun walks past the exercise machines they put on the bottom floor and almost trips over a little kid’s tricycle.

Bunny Boy grabs him and sets him upright.

“Now, don’t go tipping over.”

Renjun laughs awkwardly. “Thank you, uh-”

“Doyoung. Kim Doyoung.”

“Thank you, Doyoung-nim.”

Was that even the right honorific? Ugh, he really should’ve studied up on the proper titles to address him by, hhhhhhhh real great going Renjun now you just made the whole damn conversation _ awkward _ death please be kind and take him away~.

“Oh, you don’t need to address me by ‘nim’, I’m only a few years older than you.”

“So, uh, sunbae?” Renjun asks, still cringing. He can’t make eye contact.

They’re inside the building, and Doyoung nods as they enter the elevator. Renjun presses the button for floor six, very interested in the tiny framed advertisement for whitening cream. 

Doyoung pushes the button for floor seven.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Um, yes.”

“Do you sing?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I can hear you practicing at night. Can you please keep it down?”

Renjun wants to melt into a puddle of human goo on the floor. He’s that embarrassed. Death exists, but having your soul die as a stranger reminds you that your room is indeed not soundproof hits different.

Doyoung quickly reads Renjun’s face, and stammers, “Ah, not like that! It’s that we need to think of neighbors- aish, I’m sorry! I also sing, and I was told not to sing at night because it bothers people, so I just wanted to tell you not to make the same mistake. It’s not very often- it doesn’t bother me- I- ah, just be careful when you sing.”

Renjun would bow if the tinny little metal box of doom could fit it, but as it cannot, he nods vigorously. “Yes, thank you very much, sir.”

“I’m in 706, so if you ever want to come up and talk to me about singing or use my recording studio, feel free to drop by on a weekend!”

“You have a recording studio?” 

At least a bit of his embarrassment has gone away with his enthusiasm.

Doyoung smiles sheepishly. “Ah, it’s small. My computer and a microphone and a keyboard, but I also have my guitar.”

The door slides open as they hit the sixth floor. Renjun steps out and bows. “Thank you, Doyoung-sunbae.”

“Oh, you don’t-”

The lift door closes. Renjun practically sprints to his apartment, not even bothering with the key, simply banging (quietly) on the door in hopes that his sister would take pity and open it. It’s as if stepping outside of that place has magnified his shame by tenfold, now that he’s out in the open air.

His sister opens the door, and Renjun flops onto the couch.

He immediately returns to the token comfort of Mandarin, and heaves a dramatic sigh. “Yuqi, I’m dead.”

“Why?”

“You know that bunny-looking boy who lives above us?”

“Doyoung?”

“Yeah, him.”

“He’s pretty good-looking,” she says teasingly.

Yuqi’s the only other family member who knows Renjun’s a depressed gay bitch, and he loves her for that.

“No, not like that. Oh, yeah, I have a boyfriend.”

Yuqi shrieks so loudly Renjun thinks Doyoung’s just added their entire apartment to his hit list.

“Bitch, what?”

Renjun chucks his slipper at her. “Shut up, he can hear us!”

“No, no, but explain.”

“We need snacks.”

Yuqi heads into the kitchen and rumages around, coming out and throwing a Wang Wang Xue Bing onto Renjun’s forehead.

“Come on, tell me everything.”

“Don’t you have homework?”

Yuqi looks down at Renjun and drops dead center onto his stomach.

“Agh, geroff!”

She smiles smugly and sits on the couch’s armrest, knowing full well she’s gotten him beat. 

“Homework can wait.”

“So I have a job now, right?”

He covers his ears at the resounding scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, remember how I said I was going to update on Fridays?  
Instead, I spent another two hours expanding Renjun's story because I had an ~idea~ at school on Friday. I also don't know why I decided to make Yuqi Renjun's older sister but I did and you can't stop me because I am the author. Whoa, that's a lot of responsibility. Appreciate one of my three Dream biases. Although I may soon have to expand that list to four.
> 
> To make up for that, here's the list.
> 
> The List So Far About Lee Jeno:  
#1: He has floppy hair. Renjun appreciates that. (Oh, and, he’s his soulmate.)  
#2: He’s adorable. Renjun is whipped for that.  
#3: He’s a Tall Bitch™.  
#4: Sibling-less, but way more patient than Renjun. This is shown when he painstakingly points out every-single-color to Renjun, who, despite reading up on things and pestering his family when younger, cannot for the life of him fathom why there are so many shades of things.  
#5: He lived in America for a year and a half, that’s why he’s here, man.  
#6: Despite Living In America For A Year, his English is worse than Renjun’s.  
#7: His shitty, shitty Chinese skills do not make up for the lack of English, but do in fact make him cuter.  
#8: He’s on Train Five, which Renjun is not familiar with. He will have to do some reading up on that.  
#9: He’s adorable, because of the way he walks.  
#10: He can read Renjun way too well.  
#11: He’s adorable in the way that he knows what Renjun is thinking, but doesn’t try to push it.  
#12: He’s allergic to cats, but works at a cat cafe anyways.  
#13: He’s an idiot. It’s adora- *windows task scheduler error 101 launch failure code 2147943726: Renjun has stopped working*  
#14: He’s adorable.  
#15: He’s a dork. Such a dork. Renjun did not know he had uwus to bust, but the uwus have been busted.  
#16: He’s an introvert, and he can carry a conversation? And he pretends to have an interest in personality types because Renjun has an interest in personality types?  
#17: He has a tiny eye freckle and Renjun really wants to touch it but he doesn’t because consent matters, kiddos.  
#18: His ears go pinkish-red when he’s embarrassed and it’s so endearing and oh God Renjun is w h i p p e d.  
#19: He said he loves Renjun.  
#20: Renjun loves him back.


End file.
